Melismata umbris by Janis Lago

NYS#173

Life never waits, for every day is the end of days, every signal yet another shard of electromagnetism drifting outward into the vacant other beyond this earth. Even knowing this - in fact, precisely because we know this - it proves arduous to fully swallow the fear that we will be forgotten outside the moment, that our voices will remain indecipherable amidst the waterfall of spectra as they meld into each other, reconstructing the Tower of Babel in space for an audience of nil. Beyond this, the low frequencies will shift redder and redder until they will have left the gamut of what we can understand now someday, and these eternal voices, infinitesimally approaching total oblivion, will remain imperceptible to whatever lies closest to divinity. My love for the world and for those dear to me will mean nothing by then, but in the same way it will also mean everything, a hidden testament to humanity's by then long-gone ability to latch onto something fleeting knowing it would someday disappear. Immortality in mortality, eternity in ephemera: I sing for the shadows an unbroken melody, my life a blur and my voice resounding forever.

Svalbard Seed Vault field recordings label. Dabbling in large-scale interactive hydrophone installations and sixth wave post-Pigfuck on the side.

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